


Köttbullar

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [20]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:16:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Athos' turn to be cared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



"Porthos?" 

Porthos stirs awake. His body feels heavy, but relatively rested. It must be close to morning. The light in the room is dim and grey, and for a moment Porthos isn't sure what's woken him. 

"Porthos," comes another whisper then, more urgent than before. 

He knows that voice, knows its _tone_ , too. When he turns his head and opens his eyes he can make out Athos in the open door, his silhouette easy to distinguish by the pyjamas he's wearing, even though Porthos fails to identify the colour. "You alright?" he whispers back, very aware of Aramis' still form behind him. 

Athos shakes his head, once. Porthos isn't surprised. He slips out of bed, careful not to wake Aramis, and moves towards the door, not bothering to put on a dressing-gown. He slips through the door and into the hallway, pulls the door closed behind him, so they don't disturb Aramis' slumber. "What's goin' on then?" 

Athos looks back at him with big, helpless eyes. "I think I'm dying," he groans. 

Porthos grins at him, relieved despite himself. "Come here, you drama queen." 

He crouches down so he can lift Athos up like he would one of his kids – supporting his weight with one hand under Athos' butt, the other on Athos' back to keep him from falling backward. It's not the first time they've done this, and Athos sighs and puts his arms around Porthos' shoulders, tightens his thighs around his waist. "I feel horrible." 

"Shhht, it's gonna be alright," Porthos murmurs, carrying him back to bed. He will never get over how needy Athos gets when he's sick – how demanding and honest. Porthos will never dare and tell Athos how much he enjoys this, but he does. He really does. 

Athos clings to him when he lowers him onto the mattress, his eyes even bigger than before. "I want you to stay." 

Porthos could kiss him. "I know, sweetums – and I'm gonna stay, but first I've gotta get you somethin' for the fever, yeah?" 

Athos sighs. "Be quick about it, yes?" 

Porthos smiles at him, and leans in to brush a kiss to his forehead. "You know I will." 

Athos' eyes are closed when Porthos straightens, and he strokes his fingers through Athos' hair, gentle. "I'll be right back." 

He leaves Athos' room and returns to his own, wakes Aramis so he can tell him what's going on – and so Aramis won't wake up in an empty bed all by himself later. Porthos knows how much he dislikes that. 

"Athos is sick?" Aramis repeats once he's awake enough to grasp the basics, and promptly scrambles out of bed to follow Porthos out into the hallway. "Is it bad?" 

"Bad enough for him to come and get me," Porthos murmurs, moving towards the kitchen. "As far as I can tell he's got a fever – and he sounds a little scratchy, too." 

So Porthos makes tea while Aramis searches their supplies for the right medicine. They return to Athos some minutes later, and Athos groans when they enter his room, levels a baleful glare at Porthos. "You needn't have woken Aramis." 

"What, and let him miss this?" Porthos jokes. "Not for the world." 

"It's quite alright," Aramis insists, putting the medicine down and leaning over Athos to give him a kiss. "It's almost morning anyway." 

"I wanted you to rest," Athos reasons, his voice a little weepy. "You work so hard." 

"What do I do?" Porthos snorts. "Skip around in a field of flowers all day?" 

Athos blinks at him. "But you always take care of me." 

Porthos smiles at him. "You're gonna be awful cute again, won't you?" 

"I don't know what you mean," Athos says, dignified. "I merely thought -" 

"And you're right," Porthos interrupts him gently. "I'm gonna take care of you." He sits down on the bed beside Athos and helps him sit up, gently strokes the hair away from his face. "We brought you some medicine, and some tea as well." 

Athos makes a weak little noise when Porthos touches his forehead, closes his eyes. "I shouldn't have taken that walk in the rain the other day." 

"Probably not," Porthos agrees, exchanging a glance with Aramis. "But you needed to clear your head, didn't you?" 

"Mhm," Athos hums by way of an answer, keeps his eyes closed. "As it turned out I might just as well have waited for Aramis to come home." He opens his eyes then, and accepts the pill Aramis offers him, accepts a mouthful of tea as well. 

"I'm gonna check if I need to cool down somethin' else beside your head now," Porthos says, and manoeuvres Athos back onto his back. He pulls away the blanket, and moves his hands over Athos' body – his legs and arms, checks for the source of the fever. "Just your head," he announces after a while, and tucks Athos back in. "Do you think you can sleep now?" 

"As long as you don't leave," Athos murmurs, and sighs when Aramis puts a cold cloth on his forehead. 

"I won't," Porthos promises him. "I'm gonna call the orphanage and tell them I won't be comin' in today." 

"Thank you," Athos says, his voice quiet, peaceful. "Tell the Captain I'm sorry." 

"I will," Porthos promises, and leaves the room after exchanging another glance with Aramis. When he comes back Aramis is on the bed with Athos, stretched out beside him, holding his hand and looking star-struck. "He asleep?" Porthos whispers, settling down next to Aramis as quietly as possible. 

Aramis nods, his eyes wide and full of wonder. "Is he always this -" 

"Adorable when sick?" Porthos asks, leaning in for a kiss. "You bet." 

Aramis hums and kisses him back, sweet and responsive as always – and a little distracted, maybe. "Do you want me to stay home, too?" he murmurs against Porthos' lips. "I could call Constance -" 

"We'll be fine," Porthos chuckles. "He might act all dramatic, but it's really not that bad." 

Aramis falls quiet then, leans into Porthos' embrace without letting go of Athos' hand. Porthos can't help the feeling that there's something on Aramis' mind, but he doesn't push, doesn't ask. Aramis will talk to him when he's ready. He's getting good at that.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis is long gone and at work when Athos stirs awake a few hours later. Porthos has made himself comfortable beside Athos, has put on a t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans and dug up one of his favourite books. A mug of tea is steaming on the bedside table, standing next to a plate that bore his breakfast. Since Porthos is a provident and experienced man, the bedside table also contains a glass of water and some painkillers. Accordingly, Athos groans before he even opens his eyes, shifts beneath the blankets and moves closer to Porthos – gropes for his hand. 

Porthos smirks, puts down his book, and gives it to him. "I'm still here," he whispers, "don't you worry." Athos blinks his left eye open then, blinks up at Porthos and whimpers. "Headache?" Porthos asks, and Athos nods, groans a little louder than before. "Come here," Porthos whispers, and then he pulls Athos up, pulls him into his lap and wraps him properly in his blankets before he feeds him a little pill and holds a glass of water to his lips. "There," he murmurs, stroking his hand through Athos' tangled hair. "It'll be better soon, I promise." 

Athos sighs and leans into him, closes his eyes. "I feel like a rotten herring." 

"That sounds oddly specific," Porthos comments. 

"I want to take a bath," Athos clarifies, shifting slightly in his blankets. "I feel clammy." 

"Your fever is too high for a bath," Porthos says gently. 

Athos opens his eyes then, looks at him. "I won't faint on you, I promise." 

"That's what you said the last time." 

"This time is different." 

"How?" 

"It's not the last time." 

Porthos rolls his eyes, and gives Athos a little squeeze. "You just want me to fish you out of the tub again – all naked and glistening." 

"You got me," Athos drawls. "Decades of planning to seduce you – all coming to a head today." 

"You took your sweet time," Porthos smiles, rubbing his cheek against Athos'. 

"I am a patient man," Athos whispers. Porthos cuddles him a little closer. "Take me to the bathroom, please," Athos murmurs, cuddling back. "I feel disgusting." 

Porthos closes his eyes for a moment. They both know he's going to give in. "Just for the record, you smell fine to me," Porthos states, getting up with Athos in his arms, blankets and all. It takes a bit of wriggling, but he manages. 

"That is because you are an animal, and do not know any better," Athos informs him, sounding snooty. There's a bout of silence, and then he clings to Porthos, pushes his face into his neck. "I am sorry. That was uncalled for." 

"It was a little mean," Porthos admits, kissing his cheek. "But I forgive you, because you're cute." Athos makes a helpless little noise, and then they reach the bathroom, and Porthos puts him down on the toilet lid. "Try not to slip off." Athos manages, despite the blankets, and Porthos proceeds to fill the tub. He unearths the essence he'd bought for Aramis when he was sick, pours a generous amount into the tub, and adjusts the temperature. When he turns around Athos is watching him, a quaint little smile hovering around his mouth. "What?" Porthos asks him. 

"I love you," Athos tells him, his eyes soft. "But you know that." 

"Yes, I do," Porthos smiles, moving to crouch in front of Athos, cupping his cheek. "And I love you, too – but you know that." 

"I do," Athos says, closing his eyes and leaning into his touch. "Can I tell you a secret?" 

"Always," Porthos whispers, studying Athos' relaxed features. "What is it?" 

"Being with you and Aramis makes me really happy." 

Porthos smiles a little wider than before. "How's that a secret?" 

"You picked a good one," Athos murmurs, as though Porthos hadn't said anything. "Thank you for … for sharing him with me." 

"Oh, darlin', you know I wouldn't have it any other way." He pulls Athos into his arms and holds him tight, breathes him in for a long moment. "I'm really happy that you like each other so much – it's the best thing that ever happened to me." Athos wriggles out of his blankets so he can hug him back, and Porthos feels his hands grab the back of his t-shirt, feels his fingertips dig into his skin. They stay like that for a long moment, and then Porthos pulls back, presses a kiss to Athos' forehead. "I think your bath is ready." 

He turns off the tap, and then he peels Athos out of his blankets, peels him out of his pyjamas, too. Athos is a little flushed, but Porthos blames that on the fever. After all these years there's really nothing about his friend's body Porthos hasn't seen before. "Come on then," he murmurs, helping Athos to his feet, and into the tub. "Do you want me to wash your hair?" 

"Oh god yes." 

Porthos grins and proceeds, taking care not to get any shampoo into Athos' eyes. "You still with me?" he asks after a long moment of silence, and Athos hums, stretches out in the tub. 

"Still not fainted," he reports. 

"Very good." Porthos massages his scalp, moves his fingers through the wet mass of Athos' hair. "What do you want for breakfast?" 

"I am not very hungry," Athos says, sounding indifferent. 

Porthos rolls his eyes. "That's not an answer to my question." 

"Fruit salad and yoghurt then," Athos drawls. "With oat flakes and nuts." 

"There, that's better," Porthos praises him, petting his wet head. "Finally some sense out of you." 

"What do you mean – finally?" Athos asks, sounding suspicious. "I am a thoroughly sensible person." 

"Uh-hu," Porthos agrees. "Sure. Thoroughly sensible. That's you. Especially about food, proper sleeping hours, and the healthy amount of coffee to have in the course of one day." 

Athos pokes his toe into the faucet. "That reminds me that I want coffee for my breakfast as well." 

"You know I'm gonna give you tea," Porthos says, his voice stern. 

Athos cranes his neck so he can look at him. He's grinning. "Doesn't change what I want, though." 

Porthos chuckles and rinses the shampoo out of Athos' hair, and then he leans in and kisses his cheek. "I'm a lucky bastard, aren't I?" 

Athos puts his arm around his neck, holds him close. "Just as much as I am, I suppose."


	3. Chapter 3

"So, have you told him yet?" 

Porthos makes a curious noise and stretches, pulls the wrinkles out of the clean sheet he put on Athos' mattress. "Have I told him what?" he asks, glancing in Athos' direction. 

Athos pulls his feet onto the armchair he's sitting in, huddles deeper into his blankets. "That you love him." 

Porthos straightens, pauses before he grabs a fresh cover for Athos' pillow and shoves it inside. "Why do you ask?" 

"I don't know," Athos mumbles, staring at his knees. "I guess I just want to know." 

Porthos pulls his brows together, and puts the finishing touches on Athos' bed, blanket and all. "There, all ready." 

"Thank you," Athos says softly, not moving from his armchair. "Why haven't you told him?" 

He's unusually tenacious in pursuing this matter, and Porthos grins, lets out a little huff. "Athos." 

"What?" Athos mumbles. "You always tell me these things." 

"Alright." Porthos sighs, giving in. He sits down on the freshly made bed and tilts his head, purses his lips, looking out the window next to Athos' head. "I haven't told him yet cause I'm waitin'." 

"For what?" Athos' face is flushed, his hair is messy, and his eyes are glazed, but he still manages to look alert. This must be pretty important to him, Porthos thinks, transferring his focus from the scenery outside back to his friend. 

Porthos knows why, and he smiles. "I'm waitin' for him to realize that sayin' the words is not as important as actin' like it." 

Athos promptly pouts. "You might just as well tell him. Because you love him. A lot." 

"Not the point," Porthos says gently, standing up from the bed and moving to stand beside Athos, his back to the room, looking out towards the park. "If you wanna have him told so bad, go ahead and tell him." 

"I cannot possibly tell your boyfriend that you love him," Athos snorts. 

Porthos smiles down at him. "I'm not talkin' about me, I'm talkin' about you, prince charmin'." 

Athos freezes, and Porthos bites his lip. "It's not a bad thing, Athos." But the way Athos looks up at him, guilty and afraid suggests otherwise. Porthos sighs. "Athos." 

"I do not love him," Athos says in a small but obstinate voice. "I promise you, I do not." 

"Course you do," Porthos whispers back. He moves, bends to lift Athos out of the armchair, settles down on the bed with him. "Maybe not the way I do, but that doesn't mean you don't feel it." 

"He is your boyfriend," Athos argues, sounding exhausted, trying to hide himself inside his blankets. 

Porthos shrugs. "So what? He's not allowed to be loved by more than one person? In case you hadn't noticed: he's extremely lovable and cute. He deserves a lot of affection." He clears his throat. "Same goes for you." 

"You know I would never … I _could_ never take him away from you." Athos' voice barely raises above a whisper, and its tone is so sad and defeated that it makes Porthos ache inside. 

"Of course I know that. This has nothing to do with taking away anythin' from anyone – that's not what this is about. This is about you havin' found someone you care for – someone who cares for you, too." Porthos smiles and brushes a kiss to Athos' temple. "That's pretty special, you know?" Athos sniffs and clings to Porthos, pushes his face into his neck and doesn't say anything for a long moment. Porthos knows he is crying, that the question of his feelings for Aramis – for anyone, really – will never be an easy one for Athos. Admitting affection has led to pressure and coercion a few too many times in the past. Porthos closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, strokes his hands over Athos' back. "You go ahead and love my boyfriend," he whispers, holding Athos tight. "I don't mind. How could I? I love you as much as I love him after all." 

Athos makes a noise that reminds Porthos forcibly of a wounded seal and emerges from his hiding place against Porthos' neck. "One day I am going to find out which fairy tale you have sprung from," he announces, sounding weepy, "and then I am going to -" 

"What?" Porthos whispers, looking into his eyes. "Then you're gonna what?" 

"Call you by your true name," Athos murmurs, smiling through his tears. "Break the spell that binds you." 

"Whatever would you do that for?" Porthos growls, uncommonly affected by his friend's words. "Do I look like I want my spell broken? I like my spell! It's a great spell!" 

Athos laughs and wipes his eyes, and presses his face into Porthos' shoulder to dry them. "God, I hate it when I have a fever." 

"You'll feel better soon enough," Porthos soothes him, kissing his forehead. "And this evenin' Aramis will come home and you two can cuddle while I cook, eh?" 

"You are sweet," Athos tells him, reaching up to stroke his hand through Porthos' curls. "I do not deserve you." 

"Yes, you do," Porthos contradicts him. "You always have." 

He holds Athos tight for a long moment, and then Athos sighs and goes soft in his arms. "I am hungry." 

"Want me to carry you to the kitchen with me so you can watch me from the couch while I make you breakfast?" 

"Yes, please," Athos mumbles, snuggling up closer to him, turning Porthos to mush inside. 

"If you keep this up you're gonna give Aramis an aneurysm," he informs Athos, standing up with him in his arms. 

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" Athos asks, putting his arms around Porthos' neck. "You know my fever always gets worse towards the evening." 

Porthos grins, and shrugs, carrying Athos out of his room. "I'll have to nurse you both back to health then." 

"How selfless of you," Athos drawls. "Do not imagine that I don't know how much you are enjoying this." 

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Porthos chuckles, rounding the corner to the living room. He puts Athos down on the couch, and suddenly finds himself the subject of a wide-eyed, teary gaze. 

"Thank you," Athos whispers, clinging to Porthos' t-shirt with both hands. 

"For what?" Porthos asks, torn between concern and amusement. 

Athos blinks, and one single theatrically aspiring tear rolls down his cheek. "For staying with me although I have so very little to offer you." 

"Are you kiddin' me?" Porthos asks, well aware how very rhetorical a question it is. "You're my best friend. You're my everythin'." 

"Aramis is your everything," Athos sniffs. 

"No, no, no," Porthos clarifies, wiping that audacious tear from Athos' cheek with this thumb. "Aramis is my boyfriend. He's my darlin' kitten. My sunshine. But he's not you, and he never will be." He leans in, brushes a kiss to Athos' cheek. "Don't you ever forget that." 

Athos clears his throat, fishes a handkerchief out of his pyjama pocket and vigorously blows his nose. "I shall try." 

"Attaboy," Porthos murmurs, finally moving towards the kitchen unit to make that breakfast.


	4. Chapter 4

Porthos is half-asleep when Aramis comes home. He's on the couch with Athos, buried under a mountain of blankets, with Athos sitting sideways between his legs, his torso turned towards him, using his shoulder as a cushion, blissfully unconscious. Porthos doesn't move when Aramis tiptoes around the corner, merely lifts his lids a few millimetres – blinks a smile at him. Aramis stops. Stares at them. Porthos is in no doubt as to why. Because Athos is soft and warm in his arms, and he has buried his hand in Athos' hair, still ridiculously silky from washing it earlier. 

"Welcome home," Porthos whispers. 

"Nnngh," is the eloquent reply. 

Porthos grins. "I know, right?" 

"Can I take a picture?" Aramis whispers urgently, and Porthos nods, his heart breaking open to allow more room for light inside. 

"Yes please." 

So Aramis takes not one, but about two dozen pictures, puts his phone away, and tiptoes closer towards the couch. "Is he feeling any better?" 

Porthos grimaces and shakes his head, and Aramis looks appropriately compassionate. "Anything I can do?" 

"Yes," Porthos says. "You can snuggle him while I make dinner." 

Aramis looks hesitant. "Will he accept me as a replacement?" 

"Oh, I should say so," Porthos chuckles, gently shaking Athos awake. "Hey, hothead, Aramis is home." 

Athos throat produces a pitiful sound, and when he looks up at Porthos, all bleary-eyed and flushed, Porthos is rather forcefully reminded of the 5-year old who kept him at his bedside for two weeks when he had whooping cough. 

"Wha?" Athos mumbles quizzically, obviously unaware of Aramis' presence, and Porthos smiles at him and brushes the hair away from his heated brow. 

"Aramis is home," he repeats. 

The resulting smile dawning on Athos' face just about kills Porthos. "Come here," he whispers, addressing both Athos and Aramis, and Aramis promptly sits down on the couch, obviously eager to be of assistance. Porthos unhesitatingly plants Athos in his lap. "There," he murmurs. "Perfect." 

Aramis looks a bit bemused by this turn of events, but when Athos makes a sound like a clogged kitten, Aramis relaxes and lifts his hand to stroke it over Athos' rosy cheek. Athos pretty much face-plants into Aramis' chest. Porthos sighs. "Too adorable for words." 

"Nnngh," Aramis gets out again. 

"I'm so glad you're home," Athos mumbles into his chest. "I missed you." 

"He was very needy today," Porthos informs Aramis, retreating from the couch and Aramis' helpless stare of overwhelmed fondness. "There were tears, I kid you not." 

Athos whimpers in confirmation, and Aramis coos at him and fluffs his hair. "You'll feel better soon, I promise." 

Porthos turns his back to them rather hurriedly and starts making dinner. The sensation expanding inside his chest is getting rather familiar by now, and Porthos is running out of reasons why he shouldn't act on it. Apart from the one. The mother of all reasons: Neither Aramis nor Athos would _want_ him to. It's a conundrum. A big one. Because all Porthos wants for these two is for them to be _happy_. He loves them more than he loves anyone else in the world, and the fact that they love him back, that they love _each other_ … how Porthos is living with this knowledge, day in, day out, without combusting, he has no idea. 

Athos has changed so much since Aramis came into their lives. He is finally allowing himself to be open and vulnerable with someone besides Porthos – is so sweet and gentle with Aramis that Porthos cannot doubt the depth of his affection for him. Porthos knows that there is an opportunity here – an opportunity for them all to be even happier than they are now – if only it weren't for … fear. Because that's what it is; that's what's holding them back. Fear. It's not like Porthos doesn't understand why. 

Both Athos and Aramis have more than enough reason to be afraid of this – of their affection for each other. Porthos was there on the mornings after, when Athos cried into his shoulder, bewildered and indignant – unable to understand why it just wouldn't _feel good_ , no matter how much he liked his partners. … And Aramis, with his fragile heart, given so often already, only to have it flung back at him by people who didn't believe him to be in earnest – who thought him shallow just because he was young and pretty and so very eager to receive and give pleasure. 

They couldn't be more different, and yet they are so very alike, Porthos thinks, keeping his back to them, determinedly staring down at his risotto preparations. He sighs. They are so very good for each other. He just wishes they weren't so very _difficult_ about it. 

 

"There," Porthos says, twenty minutes later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, approaching the living room area. "What did I miss?" His chest is still feeling somewhat cavernous, and the sight of Aramis basically petting Athos into a state of mindless bliss doesn't precisely help plug it up. He more falls into than sits down on the armchair opposite the big leather couch and takes a cushion into his lap to have something to cling to. 

"Aramis wants to make the kids costumes for Christmas," Athos whispers, lying on his back with his head in Aramis' lap. "I told him he's insane." 

Porthos smiles at them both. "That's a nice idea, kitten." 

"Constance says she'd help me," Aramis informs him, blushing a little. "As long as we pay for the fabric." 

"That shouldn't be an issue," Porthos murmurs, glancing at Athos who appears to be melting into the couch. "What kind of costumes did you have in mind?" 

Aramis blushes a little more than before. "I don't know – sparkly ones? Whatever they like, really." 

Athos closes his eyes and turns his face to the side – pushes it towards Aramis' belly. "You are very lovely." 

Aramis looks precariously close to melting too now. Porthos smiles at him. "Do you want me to ask around the orphanage?" 

"Yes, please," Aramis beams at him, still stroking his fingers through Athos' hair, probably not even aware that he's doing it. Then he bites his lip, stops moving his hand. 

"What?" Porthos asks, immediately concerned. 

"I meant to ask you," Aramis says, his voice soft and insecure, "what you usually do about Christmas?" He looks across the table at Porthos, something rather close to fear in his eyes. "Would you mind if we visited my parents this year? They invited us. All of us, I mean." 

"Well, we're usually at the orphanage on the 24th," Porthos says, "and then at Athos' parents for the 25th and 26th. I don't see why we can't visit your parents on either of these days instead. Did they have a specific day in mind?" 

"Not yet, no," Aramis murmurs, looking both relieved and a little guilty – until Athos reaches out a hand and grabs his collar, pulls him in so he can look into his eyes. 

"I will talk to my Mother," he says, his voice steel wrapped in cotton candy. "It will not be an issue." 

Porthos is rather disappointed when Aramis doesn't give Athos a kiss for that. 

… Until Aramis gives Athos a kiss for that.


	5. Chapter 5

"I trust you're comfortable," Porthos chuckles, standing in the open door to his room. He has just returned from the bathroom, and the scene unfolding before his eyes looks something like this: The room is almost dark; the only source of light is the lamp on the right bedside table; Aramis, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, is lying on the left side of the bed, facing Athos, clad in his usual pyjamas, who is apparently trying to establish some sort of symbiosis with Aramis, possibly the endo kind. 

Aramis smiles at Porthos and strokes his fingers through Athos' hair. "He's complaining that he's too hot." 

"And he thinks crawling inside you is gonna help with that?" 

"It does!" comes Athos' muffled voice from the region of Aramis' neck. "Will you now please come to bed?" 

"Did you take your medicine?" Porthos inquires while making a bee-line for his phone. He takes a picture and winks at Aramis when he blushes, sends it to Aramis' phone right away. 

"Of course I did," Athos grumbles, unaware of being immortalized on phone. Nonetheless, Athos pulls his face away from Aramis' neck for just long enough so he can glare at Porthos, and Porthos promptly hides the phone behind his back. "I am not the one in this relationship who thinks he can cure everything with a bit of honey in his tea!" 

"Well, it _is_ a natural antibiotic," Porthos defends himself, sneakily dropping his phone onto the nightstand before he puts his knee onto the mattress and crawls into bed on the right side. "And tea never hurts." 

"Not the point," Athos sighs, snuggling back against Aramis as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

As far as Porthos is concerned, it is. He pulls the blanket over himself, makes sure Athos is properly covered, and turns off the bedside lamp. "Good night," he whispers, rolling onto his side so he can spoon Athos and put his arm around him. He finds Aramis' hand nestling against Athos' belly, so he takes it into his own, entangles their fingers. 

"Good night," Aramis whispers back, while Athos merely grunts like a complacent old cat. 

Porthos grins to himself. This is awesome. 

 

"This is horrible." 

Porthos lifts his left brow, entirely unimpressed. "Your fever is going down; I don't know what you're complainin' about here." 

It is the next morning, Aramis has just left for work, and Porthos has returned to bed to give Athos more cuddles. 

"I _miss_ him," Athos informs him with something Porthos would call a wail if it was anyone but Athos. "How can I miss him? He has only just left! This is unacceptable – not to mention illogical!" 

"Yes, Spock, I know," Porthos soothes him, his heart brimming over with giddiness. "But you know he'll be back this evenin' and then you can _tell_ him how much you missed him – make him smile." 

"You are not helping," Athos grumbles, pushing Porthos flat on the bed so he can put his head on his belly. "How could I ever tell him that? It would only make him feel guilty." 

Porthos blinks up at the ceiling, befuddled. "How so?" 

"Because he is not supposed to make me miss him – he is your boyfriend." 

"Urgh, not this again," Porthos groans. "You know I don't mind!" 

"Yes, but does he know it?" Athos argues. 

Porthos frowns. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks. "I'm gonna talk to him," he eventually says, peeking down at Athos' head, moving ever so slightly up and down with every breath he takes. "You're not feelin' guilty, are you?" 

"For what?" Athos asks softly. 

"For missing my boyfriend," Porthos replies, just as softly. 

Athos clears his throat; Porthos rolls his eyes. "I knew it." 

"Will you let me adjust," Athos asks, sounding petulant. "It is a rather new experience." 

"Yeah, alright, fair enough," Porthos admits. "As long as you don't try fleein' the country or some such nonsense." 

Athos makes a grab for Porthos' t-shirt then, holds it tight. "I would not know where to go." 

The simple earnestness in his voice makes Porthos smile, makes him reach out and cover Athos' hand with his own. "Good. I've got you precisely where I want you then." 

"Helplessly devoted to your boyfriend?" Athos asks, attempting a drawl. 

"Yeah," Porthos confirms, stroking Athos' hair with his free hand. 

"Balls," Athos says, with feeling. 

Porthos grins. "Now you know Nanny Alva doesn't like that kind of talk. What was that word she taught you to use instead?" 

"It appears I have forgotten," Athos says. 

They both know it is a lie. Porthos lets it pass. 

"That reminds me that I need to get her Christmas present on the way," Athos murmurs. "The mail always takes forever to Sweden." 

Porthos makes a sympathetic noise, lost in thought for a moment. 

"What?" Athos asks him eventually, apparently made nervous by his ongoing silence. "What are you thinking about?" 

"Food," Porthos informs him, drawing an amused huff out of Athos, just like he planned. "I wanna cook somethin' special for Aramis and you today – any ideas?" 

Athos smiles up at him, strokes his hand over Porthos' belly in a rather distracting manner. "Everything you make is special." 

He means it, Porthos knows. That only makes it worse. "Snake charmer," he chuckles. "You just want me to stay in bed with you all day." 

Athos flushes, ever so slightly, and Porthos clears his throat. "You know what I mean." 

"Yes, I do," Athos says quietly – grins suddenly, his eyes shining with amusement, "want you to stay in bed with me all day." 

Porthos laughs and pulls him up, pulls him into his arms and holds him tight. "You're obviously feelin' a lot better." 

"I am," Athos admits. "You have worked your magic – as always." 

Porthos smiles and kisses his temples, first the left, then the right one. "So you're sayin' I'm magic, but when I want to rely on honey in my tea that's nonsense?" 

"You are far more potent than honey," Athos informs him, his voice stern. 

Porthos snorts. "You're gonna make me blush." 

"As if I could," is the unimpressed reply. "You are far too depraved." 

"Eh, Aramis likes it," Porthos shrugs, and suddenly Athos is clinging to him a little too hard. 

"He really does, doesn't he." Porthos waits if more is forthcoming, and eventually Athos clears his throat, looks into Porthos' eyes. "I hear him sometimes. I try not to – but I do." 

Porthos looks back at him, feeling guilty, although he's not quite sure what for. "I'll try to be more quiet in the future." 

Athos bites his lip then, evades his gaze. "You don't have to." 

Porthos stares at him – the flush, the red, bitten lips. "Oh," he eventually manages, breathes it out like the revelation it is. "Okay." 

Neither of them says anything for a long time. 

"Spaghetti," Athos offers then, manoeuvring his head back onto Porthos' belly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "That is what I want for dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs."


End file.
